


and you'd come back

by irleggsy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Insecurity, M/M, Mentioned Miya Atsumu, Post-Time Skip, mentioned Kita Shinsuke, osamu's really dumb in this one sorry folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/pseuds/irleggsy
Summary: When the door to the shop chimes softly—the telltale sign of a customer—Osamu smiles and shouts “Irasshaimase!” from where he’s carefully shaping a plate of onigiri. It's a phrase he’s said a million times, so embedded into his vocabulary it’s second nature, an everyday occurrence.Looking up to seeOjiro Aranis decidedly not.(Especially,Osamu thinks with a helpless blush,in the Tokyo branch, miles and miles away from home.)
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Ojiro Aran
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	and you'd come back

For Osamu, there is a lifetime between the moment Aran Ojiro opens the door to Onigiri Miya and the moment he sits at the counter.

When the door to the shop chimes softly—the telltale sign of a customer—Osamu smiles and shouts “Irasshaimase!” from where he’s carefully shaping a plate of onigiri. It's a phrase he’s said a million times, so embedded into his vocabulary it’s second nature, an everyday occurrence.

Looking up to see _Ojiro Aran_ is decidedly not. _(Especially,_ Osamu thinks with a helpless blush, _in the Tokyo branch, miles and miles away from home.)_

He’s dressed elegantly, a wool double-breasted overcoat, flattering red slacks, and a pair of oxfords that click with each step he takes. Carrying himself with purpose, he catches Osamu’s eye and strides in, the edge of his lip curling up into an easy smile. He looks _good._

Osamu’s words die in his throat.

And so, Aran takes a step.

_A memory, almost forgotten. Osamu, aged 17, a confession hidden under his tongue at graduation. When Aran comes around to say goodbye, it feels as if he’s forgotten every word he’s ever known. They cry, they laugh, and his second button stays fisted in his left hand._

A step.

_A memory that is the opposite—too well remembered. Osamu, aged 18, yelling in euphoria as Inarizaki celebrates winning Nationals against Itachiyama. There is defeat in the last game he would play as a Miya, but there is triumph in the way he scored the match point._

_Despite all of the emotions he feels on the court—the joy, the heartbreak, the fear, the hunger—there is only one thing on his mind. As Atsumu crushes him in a hug, Osamu trains his eyes on the stands. Aran stands there, grin sharp and eyes soft._

_‘Good job,’ he mouths._

_Osamu’s eyes mist up and he sends him the sunniest grin he can muster in response._

_On the night of his greatest victory, Osamu tastes loss for the second time when he can’t find Aran after the awards ceremony. According to Kita, he left the same night for a game in Osaka._

_...Without telling Osamu._

_Osamu tries not to let his disappointment show but Kita knows somehow, he always knows. Yet, it’s a comfort as he’s pulled into the gentlest hug._

A step.

_Osamu, aged 20, has been breaking his back running Onigiri Miya. He had just opened a new branch in Kobe, and while business has been booming, they’re still understaffed. He sighs and finally takes off his apron, stretching his back and slinging his bag over his shoulder to head home._

_He’s waiting for the next train back to Amagasaki when he sees it, unable to hold back a startled gasp._

_A billboard._

**_V-League,_ ** _it reads._ **_Division I Men._ ** _An intricate spread of different volleyball players stretches outward in an impressive graphic._

_Aran is front and center._

_Osamu bursts into laughter, taking plenty of photos to make fun of him later. As he studies the photo, still chuckling, he tries to ignore the way his tears fall, and he reminds himself that the time has passed. Who is he fooling? He won’t send these photos. He missed his chance._

_There are some things in life that he needs to let go of._

_He stares at Aran’s number on his phone. The last text they exchanged was Osamu’s invitation for Aran to watch them at Nationals senior year._

_Osamu’s breath hitches._

_He deletes Aran’s contact._

_20 can mean a lot of different things. The ride home feels lonelier that night._

A step.

_He gets a call from Atsumu. Inarizaki’s Boy’s VBC is doing a reunion, apparently. Half a decade later and they’re going out for a round of drinks. Osamu hums noncommittally, says something about checking his calendar and calling back later._

_Atsumu whines, dramatic and prolonged. He lowers his voice conspiratorially and makes one last plea._

_“C’mon, ‘Samu. Even Aran-senpai will be there.”_

_Stunned silence._

_Atsumu gasps over the line. “Wh—_ **_No fuckin’ way._ ** _You’re_ **_still_ ** _not over him!”_

_Osamu hangs up abruptly, ears ringing. Atsumu always did know him too well. His heart thuds painfully fast and he shuts his eyes._

_Tries not to think of too kind eyes and patient hands. Tries not to think of middle-school gyms and high school locker rooms. Tries not to think of second buttons and missed parties and billboards and second chances._

_Tries not to think of the one that got away._

_A what-if._

_Osamu throws himself into his work and does everything in his power not to think of a reunion, an anniversary, and an almost._

_He doesn’t succeed._

A step. The final one. Aran comes to a halt right before the counter. 

There’s a pause.

Osamu’s eyes meet gunmetal grey as his vision comes into focus and _oh,_ it feels as if his breath has been stolen away. There had never been any doubt that Aran was attractive, sure, but he’s never confronted the realization so head-on as he does now. The billboards, the photoshoots, the interviews—the cameras did him no justice.

Absence does, unfortunately, make the heart grow fonder.

Because Aran is gorgeous, and the facial hair suits him.

(God, does it suit him.)

Osamu tries not to think too hard about his own appearance. His hat feels kitschy and overly warm, his shirt is sweaty and covered in rice, and his apron is streaked with all manners of stains. His heart climbs into his throat. He pales in comparison to the man before him.

But Aran doesn’t look at him that way. He looks at him like he could be enough.

_He looks at him like he’s beautiful,_ part of him says.

_Shut up,_ another part of him says.

Too late, Osamu realizes the silence has extended awkwardly long. He looks away and fiddles with the brim of his cap.

Aran breaks it with a far-too-fond chuckle. “I told you I’d outgrow you eventually.”

Osamu’s eyes widen as he straightens up. Sure enough, Aran is a good couple centimeters taller.

Osamu thinks about how they would look standing next to each other, curled around each other, holding each other. Those shoulders, how they would envelop him entirely. His arms, how they would keep him so warm. How Aran would be enormous, in his small hands.

He settles for smiling and telling him “After all these years, you won,” instead. “Can I offer you some onigiri, on the house, as a prize?”

Aran laughs. “I can pay for myself, but if you’re offering, I won’t refuse.”

Osamu shakes his head, heading back into the kitchen to grab a fresh batch of rice. He’s thankful that it’s one of the quieter nights around here. “You’re all leeches, yeah? Don’t worry, I can afford some handouts here and there.”

And so, they catch up over onigiri.

Aran sings his praise after just the first bite. Osamu stays as humble as he can, scowling and telling him to at least wait ‘til he reaches the filling to wax poetic about his food. Aran continues anyway, forcing Osamu to hide his blush behind his cap.

They talk about anything and everything—the upcoming Adlers vs. Jackals match, Kita’s current crop of rice, the Falcons’ newest recruits. They go back even further than that, discussing Osamu’s brief stint in culinary school, Aran’s old injuries, games that Aran was surprised to hear Osamu keeping up with.

(Osamu’s been keeping tabs on Aran’s career far longer and far more meticulously than he would like to admit.)

It’s been a while since they’ve caught up. They have a lot to talk about.

Through it all, Osamu tries not to think of how... natural it is. How his childhood friend, that boy—this man, puts him at ease like no one has been able to in a _while._

There’s a lull in the conversation, a short silence.

“So,” Osamu starts, voice light-hearted. “Were you just in town when you decided to stop by? Doing any special training in Tokyo?”

Aran steadily drums his fingers against the counter, considers his next words carefully.

Each tap of his fingers against the wood feels like a heartbeat in Osamu’s ears.

“... I’m here for _you,_ Osamu,” Aran murmurs. “I figured it’d been long enough, yeah?”

“What?” Osamu asks, baffled. _“Why?”_

Aran sighs, wistful. “Osamu...You never called.” His voice is soft. “I thought you would call.” The words aren’t accusatory, simply fact. “The reunion…” Aran didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Osamu never came.

Osamu’s eyes widen, mouth agape as he struggles for an excuse. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Even Atsumu did,” Aran whispered. “Did I…? Did I do something wrong?”

_No. No, no, no._

“Ah, don’t worry about it. That’s what I thought,” Aran sighs, bittersweet. Almost... melancholy. “I just… missed you, that’s all. I was hoping you did too.”

Osamu’s throat closes up. What does he say?

_I missed you so much I cried tears for a man I never saw. I missed you so much the sun and the stars lost their meaning. I missed you so much I had to push you away._

_I missed you so much I forgot how to fall in love._

“Here.” Aran hesitates before grabbing Osamu’s wrist, pressing a couple thousand yen into his palm. “That should cover it. Keep the change.” He stands, refusing to meet Osamu’s eyes. “I’ll see you around.”

And then he’s out the door, exponentially quicker to leave than he was to enter. Osamu can only watch, frozen in time, assaulted by the weight of his own regret. 

His eyes. They’re tearing up.

He’s not moving. _Why_ isn’t he _moving?_

Osamu has to say something, has to _do_ something. He can’t let this man slip away, he can’t go another half a decade without seeing him again.

“A-Aran!” he stutters out. It’s too late. The door has closed. He jumps the counter, not even grabbing a coat, ignoring the odd looks of the few customers lingering around the shop.

Osamu bursts through the door. Looks left, looks right, spots a familiar walk. _Damn_ he moves fast because he’s impossibly far already. _Dramatic irony._ He sprints without thinking. “Aran!” he repeats.

Aran stops from where he’s winding his scarf back around his neck, turning around. Shock colors his face. “Osamu?” he asks, quickly unwinding his scarf. As Osamu stops before him, wheezing in the winter air, Aran drapes his scarf around his neck, worried. “What are you in a rush for? Come on, you must be cold. Go back inside.”

“This,” Osamu wheezes. “Is more important.” He takes a moment to compose himself, freezing cold except for the warmth of Aran’s scarf. “I-I missed you too. A lot. And I hated it, not seein’ you. I wanted to call you so bad, almost every night like clockwork. I would’ve given anything to see you. But I just...” Osamu looks away. “Yer incredible. And I never wanted ‘t hold ya back.”

Aran looks like he wants to say something, but Osamu interrupts him.

“I always knew you ‘n ‘Tsumu were meant for bigger things. Hell, even Suna’s up there. I was never cut out fer this kinda stuff.” Osamu’s accent thickens with nerves. “All I could do was watch from afar. The only thing I could do was step back and try not to burden y’all. I didn’t want to weigh you down to the ground when yer meant fer the sky.” Osamu swallows hard. “I was scared.”

“What are you even...?” Aran looks like he might cry too.

“I know you deserve better. I know I need to _be_ better, and you don’t have to forgive me. But for what it’s worth… I’m sorry.” Osamu hangs his head low in shame. “I missed one of my best friends. And I want him back.”

Aran doesn’t respond with words. He crushes Osamu in a hug.

When Osamu hugs him back, it doesn’t feel like home. But it feels like it could be. It feels like a memory, once-forgotten and sun-faded. It feels like déja vu, like a confession tucked underneath his tongue for years.

“You never held me back, Osamu.” Aran steps away and smoothes his hair back. “And I’ll do my best to convince you otherwise.”

“O-okay.” Osamu blinks tears out of his eyes and nods, shivering. “Okay.”

Aran tugs him close using his own scarf and leans in.

Osamu meets him in the middle.

(A few years later, he finds his second button from his second year in the back of his closet and gives it to Aran, fulfilling a decade-old promise to himself.)

(Aran looks struck dumb, and Osamu can’t fathom why until he pulls out his own second button with shaking hands. His third year, he says.)

(The universe has a funny way of working out sometimes.)

(What-ifs don’t always need to stay what-ifs.)

—

“I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs.”

T.S.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this back in october and i can't believe i just found out this was a taylor swift quote
> 
> (does anyone ever stop to think about the fact that ojiro aran might’ve been the miya twins’ first friend to think of them as two separate people? no? just me? _*cries*_ )
> 
> thank you to the [haikyuu!! rarepair quote bot](https://twitter.com/hqpairquotes) created by [lee!](https://twitter.com/nyamayachi) this fic would not exist without them. try it out yourself [here!](https://cheapbotsdonequick.com/source/hqpairquotes)
> 
> [this was originally posted on twitter. come say hi!](https://twitter.com/irleggsy)


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